


Brother, Let Me Be Your Shelter

by kelios



Category: Supernatural, Wincest - Fandom
Genre: Angst, First Time Bottoming, M/M, Past Non-Con, Wincest - Freeform, memories of hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 09:44:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12251844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelios/pseuds/kelios
Summary: Sam just wants to show Dean the same love that Dean gives him. But Dean has a secret...





	Brother, Let Me Be Your Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> Written with @thorkiships (twitter)/thorkiships18. He provided a great prompt and gave me free rein to finish it however I wanted. Hope you enjoy it, Izzy! 
> 
> Title taken from Brother, by JustOneBreath, proclaimed by Jensen Ackles to encompass the heart of our show ♥

Sam waits patiently on the bed, shirtless and fiddling with the hole in the knee of his jeans. The dingy motel is cozy enough; the weird striped flower wallpaper is familiar from hundreds of other rooms just like it. 

But this room is special, because tonight is the night. 

Tonight’s the night he going to be inside Dean. Tonight, Sam gets to show Dean how good he makes Sam feel every time they’re together, how loved and precious. Tonight’s the night...if Dean ever comes out of the shower. 

To calm his nerves, Sam thinks about what Dean’s doing right now. Knowing his big brother, he’s getting ready for Sam, scrubbing every inch of himself, wanting to be just as perfect for Sam as Sam wants to be for him. The thought of it makes Sam a little dizzy, nerves mixing with want mixing with excitement in a big fluttery ball in the pit of his stomach. 

Then the water stops, and it’s even worse. Sam sits straight up, looking expectantly at the bathroom door, then turns away, feeling foolish. He’s back to picking at the hole in his jeans again when Dean comes out, watching the door from the corner of his eye and hoping Dean won't see that he's already half hard and that his pulse is racing.

When Sam finally looks up, Dean's only wearing a towel, hair wet and lines of water dripping down his chest in tiny rivulets. Sam stares, transfixed, unable to decide where to look first, eyes roving greedily over every beautiful inch of his brother's body. He doesn’t even realize he’s standing until he’s in front of Dean, one trembling hand catching under Dean’s chin to tilt his face up to meet Sam’s eyes. Dean flushes, embarrassed, eyes wide then falling shut as Sam kisses him gently. 

“All ready for me?” Sam asks, pulling back with a soft smile. 

“Yeah,” Dean mumbles, looking away. Discomfort radiates from every line of his body. “Let’s just get this over with, okay?”

Just like that, Sam’s dream shatters. 

“Dean.” Sam tries to steady his voice, doesn’t succeed. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want really to. You know that, right?” 

Dean looks away, lips pressed tight. “Said I would, Sam. ‘M not gonna back out now.” 

Turning away from Dean when he’s naked and wet is quite possibly the hardest thing Sam’s ever done. “Put some clothes on, Dean,” he says quietly, reaching for his phone. “I’ll order us some pizza, see what’s on TV.” Sam steps over to the door, intending to give Dean some privacy and spare himself the sight of Dean’s rejection. 

Instead, Dean’s hand closes on his arm, dragging him around. Sam’s surprised to see anger in his eyes when he shakes free. “What the fuck, Sam? I said I’d do it--what more do you want?”

Sam blinks back tears he hadn’t felt coming. “Oh, I don’t know--for you to enjoy the thought of sex with me? I can’t believe you were going to let me _rape_ you, Dean!” 

Dean just looks at him like he’s insane. “Rape? What the hell are you talking about, Sam? _I said I would do it._ That’s about as far from rape as you can get!” 

“‘Let’s just get this over with,’” Sam repeats hollowly, throwing Dean’s words back at him. “Is that really how you feel about me? Is that what you think I want from you? To just use you to get off like you’re some stranger I couldn’t care less about?” He brushes angrily at his eyes, not sure if he’s more upset with himself or Dean. “Is that what this--” he gestures vaguely at the space between them--”is for you? Do you think less of me because I let you fuck me? Because I enjoy it? Fuck you, Dean.” 

Dean touches him tentatively, just a light hand on Sam’s shoulder that Sam feels like a brand. “Hey, c’mon, Sam--you know it’s not like that--”

“I don’t know what to think right now, Dean.” Suddenly Sam can’t stand to be here anymore. He shakes Dean off again, grabs his shirt off the floor and yanks it over his head. His room key goes in his pocket, but his phone remains pointedly on the table by the door. 

“Sam, wait--” There’s panic in Dean’s voice now, with a tinge of exasperation and more than a little annoyance. The door closes on whatever else he might have tried to say. 

Sam regrets his impulsiveness almost before he's out of the parking lot. More than anything, he wants to go back into the room and pretend like nothing happened. Dean would like that, he knows--would welcome him back with a smile that's only slightly ashamed, let him pick the toppings on their pizza and the movie they watch while they eat it. After, or maybe during, if things go well, he'll kiss Sam and Sam will let him. They'll stumble back to their bed and Dean will work him open and fuck him til he's come at least twice before finally letting himself give in, because that's just who Dean is.

And it will be good. Sam knows it will. Every time with Dean is amazing, has been since he kissed Dean for the first time when he was fourteen and neither of them could deny what was between them any longer.

So why isn't it enough anymore? Why has the idea of being inside Dean driving him crazy? Sam lets his mind wander along with his feet as he wrestles with the question that's currently making them both miserable. 

Part of it is physical, Sam freely admits. Dean is beautiful, practically a work of art. Sam's fucked other guys, and he knows how good being inside Dean would be, how amazing the tight, wet heat of Dean’s ass would feel squeezed tight around his dick. He wants that from Dean, at least occasionally--he always has, in a vague, unfocused, that-would-be-really-fucking-hot kind of way, but it's never stopped him from loving every single thing he and Dean do together.

But it’s more than that now. Sex is about more than just physicality between them--although he would never tell Dean he's always felt that the halves of their shared soul touch when they're together. But even if he's wrong, there’s no one in the world he’s more deeply connected to than Dean, and he wants to feel that connection in every possible way. He wants to be inside Dean, to have him all the ways Dean has had Sam. He wants to be the first person to ever touch him like that, wants to be the first one who knows him inside and out. He wants Dean to be his, the way he is Dean’s, in every way. He wants the chance to take Dean apart, worship him inch by inch, prove to him that he’s beautiful and worthy and precious, more than just a quick tumble in a back alley somewhere. Sam’s heart aches with the need to give that to Dean, the way Dean has given that to him.

Frustration eats at him. He’s not getting anywhere with this line of thought, and he knows Dean must be frantic with worry--he didn’t bring his phone with him and he thinks he’s been gone an hour at least. He trails to a stop, noticing a bar another two blocks down the road and debating whether or not a drink will help or just make things worse. He could probably find someone to take him home if he tried hard enough--and that would definitely make things worse. They’ve both done it in the past, sometimes in bad times, sometimes in good times, but it’s never made anything better. With a sigh, Sam turns around instead. Time to face the music. 

The walk back to the hotel seems shorter than the walk away. Sam tries not to think about what might be waiting when he gets back, but it’s a lost cause. He knows that Dean is probably pacing, phone in his hands, TV running in the background as a bare bones distraction. There might be a pizza on the table, half veggie as a peace offering, ordered before Dean realized Sam wasn’t coming back right away. Dean’s gun will be tucked into the waistband of his jeans in case he gets a call from Sam or someone who might have found him, the Impala’s keys will be in his pocket so he doesn’t have to look for them if he has to rush out to get Sam. And he’ll be angry. His pink lips will be pressed thin, his eyes incandescently green. He might be pale or he might be flushed--impossible to tell, Sam has seen both at times like this--but no matter what he’ll be beautiful. Dean can’t be anything but. 

All too soon, Sam is staring across the parking lot at the Impala. He crosses slowly, fingers ghosting over the sleek black paint but not quite touching since he doesn’t want to spend the next day washing and waxing every inch of her, a chore Dean gleefully metes out whenever Sam gives him an excuse.

Enough stalling. Sam squares his shoulders, evens his breathing like there's a werewolf on the other side of the door instead of a pissed off brother.

Which makes the sight before him even more confusing.

Dean isn't doing any of the things past experience led Sam to believe he'd be doing. The TV isn't on, there's no pizza, Dean isn't pacing. In fact, Dean isn't even dressed other than the soft, worn sweatpants he sleeps in most nights. He's stretched out on the bed, one arm curled behind his head, the other lying across the comforter where Sam should be. His eyes are open now, though Sam swears they were closed when he opened the door, watching him as he hesitates.

“You coming or going, Sammy?” Sam remembers their dad saying that on the rare occasions he was home, usually followed by “We’re not cooling the whole damn town, Sam!” when they were lucky enough to have air conditioning. 

“I--coming, I guess.” Sam flushes, embarrassment, anger and frustration swirling inside him anew as he steps stiffly away from the door and lets it swing shut behind him. His confusion only increases when Dean pats the bed next to him like he’s expecting Sam to join him. “Dean, what the hell is going on? I already said we’re not doing this.”

Dean nods, his eyes never leaving Sam. The lack of mockery in his expression leaves Sam at a loss, and he finds himself falling back to his default position of just doing what Dean tells him to. He leaves his shoes by the door and shrugs off his jacket, tossing it over a chair as he slowly crosses the room. 

Dean moves his arm, hand spread flat across his bare stomach, and Sam’s breath catches at how beautiful his brother is. He closes his eyes, willing his body into submission, and lays awkwardly on the bed next to Dean, careful to keep a few inches between them. Dean turns his head toward Sam and smiles ruefully. 

“I guess I deserve that,” he says quietly, and guilt twinges through Sam. 

“Dean--”

“It’s okay,” Dean interrupts. He turns his face away, eyes locked on the ceiling now, and draws in a deep breath. “I’m sorry about earlier. I just--I need you to listen, okay? Just listen.” 

“Dean, what--”

“It’s not like I haven’t ever thought about it.” Dean speaks over Sam like he’s not there, and Sam gets the hint. “I mean, look at you. Of course I wondered. But we both seemed pretty happy with the way things were until--” He breaks off abruptly, but Sam doesn’t need him to continue. _Until you left_ , Dean doesn’t say, and Sam doesn’t finish the sentence for him. 

“When you came back, it just seemed easier to pick up where we left off, you know? You seemed okay with that, and all I wanted was what you wanted. I just wanted you to be happy, I just wanted you to stay. If you’d asked then I would have tried anything, if it meant you would stay.” 

Sam absorbs the words quietly, stunned by what his brother is revealing. 

“Dean, I never would have asked for something I thought you truly didn’t want,” he says when Dean pauses, words rushing out before Dean can speak again. “Never. I just--I thought--I assumed this was some kind of macho thing, that you’d get over it once you tried it.” He looks over at Dean, embarrassed by his own thoughtlessness. “I’m sorry.”

Sam’s not surprised when the bed dips with Dean’s shrug. 

“I never gave you any reason to think otherwise,” Dean says calmly. “And don’t get me wrong, that was part of it. I _like_ being your big brother. I _like_ taking care of you. And I _like_ having you spread out underneath me begging for my cock.”

Dean’s matter-of-fact tone sends the blood rushing to Sam’s face. 

“Dean…” Sam feels like he somehow stumbled into the twilight zone. Dean has never been this open, this blunt, about what’s between them and he’s not sure how to handle it other than to encourage Dean as much as he can. “So what changed?” Sam prompts cautiously, hoping to get Dean to continue.

Dean’s breath quickens. If Sam hadn’t known him so well he might not have noticed, but he’s been listening to Dean his whole life and he can feel the sudden tension vibrating through his brother. 

“You…” It comes out hoarse and Dean coughs slightly. “You died,” he says. “And then…”

It hits Sam like a punch to the gut. Hell. Dean’s talking about hell, and what they did to him. 

“Hell.” Sam says, and he’s shaking now too, because he knows. He may not remember much thanks to the wall in his head, but deep down he _knows._

Dean’s hand clenches and slides off his stomach onto the bed. Sam lets his own hand drift fractionally til his knuckles graze Dean’s. 

“You can guess what they did,” Dean says roughly, voice low and strained. “And...and it was always you.”

“Oh, God.” Sam’s gut lurches sickly and it’s all he can do to hold back the bile rising in his throat. “Dean, I wouldn’t--”

“I know that,” Dean snaps, and it stings even though Sam knows the anger isn’t aimed at him. “I know. But--but I couldn’t, at first, even though I wanted to. I just couldn’t.” 

Sam wants more than anything to reach out to his brother, but he doesn’t dare, not sure how he’ll be received. Dean settles it for him by gripping his hand tightly. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he says hoarsely. “I was afraid--if I had a flashback and lost control. I didn’t know what I might do.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sam asks softly. “I would have understood, Dean. God. You know I would have.”

Sam can hear Dean’s teeth grinding painfully. “You’ve got enough shit of your own to deal with, Sam. You don’t need--”

“Don’t you say that, Dean. Don’t you pull that bullshit on me.” Sam feels like he’s hanging on by a thread, tears stinging his eyes, voice trembling, but he does his best to hold on. Dean needs him now, needs him to be strong. He can do it. He can do it for both of them. He looks over at Dean, hoping he can see past the horror to the comfort Sam wants to offer.

“And that,” Dean says thinly. “I don’t need your pity or your tears, Sam. I’m not _broken_ , so stop looking at me like I am.” He sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched. “It’s my job to take care of you, Sammy. I can’t do that if you think I’m falling apart.”

Sam touches Dean’s shoulder lightly, eyes closing tightly for a brief moment when Dean flinches. “Dean. You’re the strongest man I know. You’ve survived things most people can barely imagine. And you did it all to keep me safe. You don’t have anything to be sorry for--I’m the one who should be apologizing for choosing to forget that no means no.” 

Dean’s already shaking his head before Sam even finishes. “Sam--”

“I can wait as long as you need me to, Dean. Forever, if need be. All that matters, all that’s _ever_ mattered, is that we’re together.” He pulls on Dean’s shoulder gently, making it clear that Dean can resist if he wants. 

He doesn’t. 

Dean turns to face Sam, eyes dark with frustration. “That's just it, Sam. I don’t want to wait. I don't. I’ve thought about this plenty, and since you started asking a few months ago I've only been holding back because I was afraid of having a flashback and hurting you.” He rubs the back of his neck and doesn't meet Sam's eyes, surefire signs that he's embarrassed. “But that’s just an excuse. I haven't had a flashback in at least a year. Tonight when you left I finally admitted to myself that the real problem was...this.” He waves his hand around vaguely. “I didn't want you to know. I knew you'd hate it, I knew you'd feel sorry for me.” He looks at Sam now, repeats fiercely, “I'm _not_ broken.”

Dean's confession leaves Sam at a loss for words, stunned by the magnitude of what Dean's telling him and his own failure to comprehend what Dean has been dealing with. Dean watches him silently, no judgment, just waiting, as Sam struggles to find words for everything he's feeling.

“You know this isn't just about sex, right?” Sam says finally. He smiles a little, giving Dean's words back to him. “I mean, it kind of is--look at you. How could I _not_ want that with you?” Dean smirks weakly, fully aware of his effect on Sam. “But it's not just that, Dean. I want to give you what you give me. I want to--” Sam stops, frustrated, because he knows what he wants to say but he doesn't know how to make Dean _listen_. “I want _you._ All of you. You aren't just a pretty face, you aren't just convenient, any more than I am for you. _I love you,_ but you won't let me say it, so I want to show you, the way you show me every time we’re together.” Sam's shaking by the time he gets through, exhilarated and terrified. He can't look at Dean, too afraid of what he'll see.

“Sammy….” It's quiet, with an undertone that Sam can't read with his own emotions all over the place.

Sam scrubs a hand over his face and half laughs, half sobs. “I know, I know--no chick flick moments--”

Dean’s hand covers his, warm and firm, turns him gently until they’re face to face. Sam doesn’t look up until Dean speaks. 

“Show me.” 

Dean’s still watching him, face shuttered and closed tight over the hope he’s hiding. Sam cups the side of his face gently, his thumb sweeping over the sharp cut of Dean’s cheek as he leans in to kiss him. 

It’s good, Dean’s soft, plush lips giving under Sam’s exactly the way they always have. Dean opens for him with a sigh, the sweetly familiar taste and feel of each other grounding them both. Dean lets Sam control the kiss, doesn’t object when Sam’s other hand comes up to hold him still so that he can explore every inch of Dean’s mouth like it’s the first time. They break apart to breathe, mouths still touching, unwilling to separate completely even as Sam pushes Dean back down onto the bed. He only stops when Dean makes a soft noise of discontent. 

“You’re overdressed, little brother,” he points out when Sam tries to give him space, and Sam laughs a little in relief. His shirt goes back on the floor where it belongs, his jeans falling in a pile next to it. Dean raises an approving eyebrow when he sees that Sam is commando, a familiar leer that puts Sam at ease better than anything Dean could have said. He waits til Dean’s sweats are on the floor too before crawling up the bed until he can kiss his brother, both of them groaning at the press of skin against soft, warm skin. 

Sam breaks away first, looking down at Dean with soft, wondering eyes. “Promise me you’ll tell me if this is too much,” he whispers, pleading. Dean nods, his hands coming up to stroke Sam’s arms, his shoulders.

“Promise,” he says firmly. “Now will you please fuck me? I’ve been thinking about this _forever_.”

Sam grins. “Gonna have to wait a little longer,” he says, dropping his head to kiss a long, slow line down Dean’s throat. He knows Dean’s body, knows what he loves, and he’s determined to use every bit of that knowledge to drive his brother insane. He wants Dean so strung out and desperate by the time Sam enters him that he’ll barely feel the sting of being stretched so wide, filled so full. He wants to wring every bit of pleasure out of Dean’s body, make this so good that Dean will never regret his choice. 

Sam loses himself in the warmth of Dean’s body, tasting every freckle, tracing every scar as he inches his way down the bed until he’s lying in the V of Dean’s legs. He licks through the puddle of precome pooling on Dean’s abs and the sheen of sweat caught in the cut of his hipbone, drags the flat of his tongue along the underside of Dean’s dick. 

“Sam,” Dean begs, hands tangled in Sam’s hair. “Sammy, please--” 

“Gonna get there, big brother,” Sam promises, stretching up to cover Dean’s body with his own. He kisses Dean, lets him taste _them_ for a long moment before dropping his mouth to Dean’s ear as he wraps his hand around Dean’s cock. “Want you to come for me,” he breathes, biting down on the tender skin. 

Dean shakes his head, trembling as Sam’s teeth scrape over his tattoo, symbol of their devotion and love etched into their very souls. “N--not yet,” he gasps, arching into Sam’s hand as Sam works him exactly the way he likes it. “Not--not til you’re in me.”

Sam kisses him again, still moving, putting years of observation to good use. “You will,” Sam promises. “But first I need you to relax. Don't wanna hurt you.”

“Always liked a little pain with my pleasure, Sammy, you know that,” Dean says through gritted teeth, hands locked on Sam's biceps. “‘S how you know it's real.”

Sam drops his forehead to Dean's shoulder, eyes closed. He gets it, better than most. He moves away from Dean, letting go of his own wants so he can give Dean what he needs. 

“Alright. Alright. Turn over then.” Sam smacks Dean's thigh lightly. “And you'd better hold on tight, because nothing's gonna stop me from rimming you til you can't think straight.” 

Dean hums with pleasure, scrambling to obey. “Thought about this a lot, Sammy,” he admits, voice low and rough. “Wasn't hard to see how much you loved it, but I just wasn't ready.”

Now Sam's the one fighting not to come before they really get started. “Jesus, Dean,” he says raggedly. He palms Dean's ass, squeezing the firm muscle, digging his fingers in tight as he spreads Dean open at last. “Whenever you want,” he promises, giddy. “Just ask. God. I--” 

Words fail him as Dean pushes back impatiently against his hands. “I'm asking _now,_ Sammy,” he points out. “C’mon, don't leave me hanging--”

Dean's words dissolve in a strangled moan as Sam’s tongue finds his sensitive rim and pushes in. “Oh, _fuck me,_ ” he moans, and Sam moans in agreement. He feels like he's drowning in _Dean_ , surrounded by the taste and feel and smell of him, musky and dark and exactly what Sam wants. Dean writhes underneath him, begging wordlessly as Sam works one finger then another in alongside his tongue before pulling back. 

“Sammy--” Dean turns onto his back with an aggrieved whine. He sounds like he’s dying, like he might actually expire from disappointment if Sam doesn’t touch him _right the fuck now_.

“Just gotta get the lube,” Sam tells him, leaning forward to grab the bottle off the nightstand where he’d left it a lifetime ago. “Not gonna fuck you with just spit.”

“I told you--”

Sam silences him with a kiss, distracting him as he flips the cap on the bottle and clumsily pours out a messy handful of slick, cool liquid.

“I'm not going to _hurt_ you, Dean. Please don't ask me to.” Before Dean can answer, Sam pushes inside him again, three fingers this time, deep and wide enough to give Dean that edge of pain he seems to want. Dean shudders underneath Sam, body tightening around Sam's fingers in surprise before he relaxes with a low moan.

“Fuck, Sammy. So good.” Dean pulls Sam close, kissing him hard and deep. His teeth sink into Sam's lip when Sam finds his sweet spot and rubs over it, each spark of pleasure pushing Dean's hips up against Sam's in an increasingly desperate rhythm that's driving Sam crazy too. He pulls his fingers carefully from Dean's body, kissing away any sting, and sits back to get more lube. 

“Let me,” Dean says, hunger in his voice as he reaches for the bottle. Sam pours a little into Dean's palm, teeth sinking into his already abused lip as Dean’s hand wraps around him. “Love the way you feel, Sammy,” he whispers, dragging his palm from root to tip. “Gonna love having you inside me, too.”

Sam inhales sharply, trying to keep himself together under the assault of Dean’s whispers and the rough, familiar sweep of Dean’s hand. “Dean, I--”

Dean’s eyes glitter with the satisfaction of bringing Sam to the edge with him. “Come on, Sam. Fuck me. Wanna feel you.” He stretches out on the bed, hands above his head gripping the wooden frame loosely. 

Sam doesn’t keep him waiting. He pulls Dean’s legs up over his shoulders, bending his brother nearly in half as he leans in for a quick kiss. Dean grunts at the unexpected strain, flushing at little at being more exposed than he’s used to. Sam teases Dean’s entrance with the head of his dick, drawing out the moment before finally, _finally_ pressing forward into the tight, wet heat of Dean’s body.

Dean shudders underneath him, tensing the moment Sam enters him. Sam stops, pulse pounding, head spinning, shaking with the urge to just _take _now that they’re finally so close. “Sam?” Dean says softly, tentatively.__

“Right here, big brother,” Sam whispers immediately. He leans forward until he can press kisses along Dean’s throat and jaw, all the way back to his ear. “Right here.” 

__Dean turns toward Sam, breathes deep. “That’s the one thing they could never get right,” he murmurs, relaxing subtly. “No matter what they did, they never smelled quite right.” He inhales again, and Sam shifts to get his arms under Dean’s shoulders, pulling him closer._ _

__“Dean…” he whispers shakily. “It’s just me. It’s just Sammy. I--”_ _

__Dean interrupts, not with words but with his body. He bears down, forcing Sam deeper into him. Sam gasps, hips jerking involuntarily, and Dean makes a small, pleased sound at the stretch and burn as Sam sinks into him._ _

__“Yeah, Sammy. Just like that. Come on.”_ _

__Sam doesn’t need any more encouragement. He pushes in, one long roll of his hips that doesn’t stop until he’s flush with Dean’s body. Dean keeps his face turned against Sam’s the entire time, breathing him in, ragged and harsh until Sam is as deep as he can get. He whines deep in his throat when Sam tries to give him time to adjust, begging in a low steady murmur for _more, Sammy, come on I need it please--_ and Sam can’t refuse him. The tight clench of Dean’s body as he pulls out nearly does Sam in, every inch of Dean fighting to keep Sam inside where he belongs, sparks flashing behind Sam’s eyes and along every nerve. Sam’s thrust back in is even better, Dean’s arms locked around his shoulders and his hands tangled in Sam’s hair, holding Sam as close as he can, never close enough._ _

__After everything that's happened this evening, neither of them were going to last long. Sam knew that, but he's still surprised when the triphammer of Dean’s pulse speeds up even more against his lips._ _

__“Sam--” is all the warning he gets, and then Dean is coming underneath him, body locked tight around Sam’s, so close that his cock is still sliding through the mess on Sam’s stomach as they move together. Sam doesn’t stop, can’t stop, driving into him hard and harder as Dean practically purrs in contentment, utterly relaxed as he murmurs encouragement, and it’s so good Sam doesn’t ever want it to end even as his body is screaming at him for release._ _

__“Go ahead, Sammy, come for me,” Dean urges, tilting his head for as much of a kiss as Sam can manage, and that’s it. His orgasm crashes over him, through him, peaking again every time he thinks he can’t possibly go on until he collapses on top of Dean, completely wrung out._ _

__Dean lets him lie there for a few minutes before he shoves at his shoulder with a grunt. “Can’t breathe, Sasquatch,” he complains, but there’s no heat to his words. Sam lifts himself on trembling arms, nerves still firing aftershocks of pleasure with every breath, every movement. Dean sighs in relief, then immediately uses his newfound freedom to kiss Sam soundly, thoroughly and at length. By the time he’s done neither of them can breathe again, and Sam is finally willing and able to gingerly pull out and away from him._ _

__He doesn’t get far, though. Dean rarely wants to stay close after sex, but he makes an exception tonight, arranging them both into a formation that Sam would call cuddling if he had a deathwish. He doesn’t, so he just lets Dean move them both around however he wants, recognizing his brother’s need to make sure Sam’s still in a good place after the emotional turmoil of the evening. Sam thinks Dean’s fallen asleep when he finally speaks._ _

__“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you more, Sam,” he says quietly. “We should both know better, right? But I just…” He trails off, but Sam understands._ _

__“You don’t have to apologize to me,” he tells Dean just as quietly. “Thank you for always wanting to take care of me, even when you drive me crazy doing it.”_ _

__Dean huffs out a tired laugh. “‘S my job, Sammy,” he points out, then pushes at Sam’s shoulder again. “But since I’m off duty tonight, it’s your turn to clean up. Go get some towels, bitch.”_ _

__Sam rolls his eyes but climbs off the bed with a smile that feels ridiculously huge and sappy, even to him. “Whatever, jerk,” he retorts over his shoulder. “You know you love me.”_ _

__Sam almost doesn’t catch Dean’s response, but it’s worth everything to hear Dean say under his breath, “Yeah. I do.”_ _


End file.
